My Brother's Keeper
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Belle and Beauregard Maverick wanted their sons to love and take care of each other. One learned that lesson quicker than the other one.
1. Bart and Mr Giggles

My Brother's Keeper

Part 1 Chapter 1 – Bart and Mr. Giggles

"Bret, honey, can you come out to Momma for a minute? And bring Bart with you?" Belle Maverick called to her oldest son. It was early evening and Belle was sitting by the fireplace knitting a new scarf for Bart for the winter. She'd already finished one for Bret and knew that her youngest needed a new one even more than his older brother, especially since Bart was the one always catching something or other from the children that came to play with the boys. Or from Bret, even though the older boy rarely got sick himself.

"Yes, Momma?" Bret came running in, dragging Bart by the hand. There was only a year-and-a-half between them in age, but there was already a bigger difference in size. Bret was going to be very tall and he was built big and muscular, just like his father, Beauregard. He had Beau's black hair and dark black eyes, and looked just like his daddy had at that age. Bart was towheaded, with brown eyes and the straightest nose she'd ever seen on a boy. Beauregard swore their youngest looked exactly like his sister Jessalyn, except for the hair color, but kept that just between the two of them. No one in the family had seen Jessalyn since she ran away at fifteen and even though Beau and she wrote to each other the boys had no idea they had an aunt in Montana. Bart was a little small for his age, thin and willowy, maybe because he was sick so much, and Belle could only hope that he would sprout up as he got older.

Bart was sniffling and stopped to wipe his nose on his shirt sleeve. "Bartley, honey, didn't momma ask you not to do that?" Belle implored. The little boy nodded solemnly and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose with it, then returned it to the same place.

"What did you need us for, Momma?" Bret asked politely. He adored his mother, and no matter what he was doing when she called, he came running.

"Sit down with me, boys," Belle told them. Bret sat in Beauregard's rocker and Bart plopped down on the hand-braided rug that momma made. "Your daddy's comin' home from his trip to San Antonio tomorrow and I want to go into town and buy somethin' special to make. I want you boys to go with me. I need you to get up when I ask you to and not lay in bed for an hour after I wake you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, momma," Bret answered eagerly. Bart poked the rug with his finger as if he hadn't heard anything she'd said. If he hadn't been such a bright, enthusiastic reader, she'd swear her poor child was slow.

"Bartley, did you hear me?"

His head bobbed up and down vigorously. "Yes, momma," he answered, and gave her the look that just destroyed her. Goodness, that boy could melt your heart with one little glance. Beauregard swore to high heaven that he had Belle's eyes. Maybe that's why he was putty in her hands just like she was putty in her sons.

"Alright, since we have to get up early it's off to bed for both of you," she told them. So good about going to bed, they never argued with her or tried to stay up later than she wanted. That's why she couldn't understand why it seemed so hard for them to get up in the morning.

"Come on, Bart, Momma says it's time for bed," Bret told his younger brother. Always Bart's guardian, Bret took his brother's hand and led him to their bedroom. "We'll be ready in a minute, Momma," Bret called over his shoulder. Such a responsible boy, and only five years old. He'd just turned five, Belle reminded herself, and Bart hadn't had his birthday yet this year, so he was still three. They didn't seem to fight or even get cross with each other, and the only time there was ever a problem was when Cousin Beau came over and the three of them played cards. Then their competitive nature came out, and Bart wanted to win and beat the two older boys no matter what they played. Finally she heard Bret call, "Ready, Momma," and she got up and left her knitting in the rocker.

She let them keep a candle burning at night because Bart was afraid of the dark, so there was plenty of light to tuck them in by. Bret first tonight, then Bart. She alternated who went first so that neither one felt slighted or jealous of the attention the other one received. She tucked the covers snugly around her strong, handsome son and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, Bret. I love you very much."

"I love you too, Momma," the boy replied and closed his eyes.

Then over to Bart, who was always the wiggle worm in bed. "Goodnight, Piggly Wiggly," and kissed her baby on his nose. He giggled and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, momma bear," he laughed back at her. "Love you, Momma."

"Me, too, giggles," she answered him. "Sleep well, my boys. Remember, up early."

Belle left and closed the door behind her. As soon as they heard her footsteps carry her back into the other room both popped out of bed and Bret pulled a deck of cards from under his pillow. "Five card draw, Bart. And no cheatin' this game. It isn't your deal."

Instead of an answer Bret got a pout from his brother. Bart knew just how to manipulate anyone with one of his looks and his brother tried to remain impervious to them. "No good," Bret told him. "It's my deal, you're not cheatin'. That's cheatin'."

The pout instantly disappeared and was replaced by an eager smile. "Play," Bart said. He knew when he could maneuver his brother and when he couldn't. They played on into the night, long past the time they heard Momma go to bed, alternating deals (and therefore who got to cheat the other during the game) until neither could keep their eyes open any longer.

"Remember, we gotta get up when Momma calls us," Bret said before blowing out the candle. "Night, Bart."

The answer came back as it always did. "We will. Night, Bret." The older brother went right to sleep without a moment's hesitation; the younger one lay in bed and dreamed of the day he could stay up and play poker as long as he wanted, with no one to force him to sleep the night away. In later years he would lie awake and remember the lighthearted days of his youth and wonder why he didn't want to waste time sleeping.

Morning comes early when you spend half of your sleeping time playing the 'frowned-upon' game of five-card draw and you're not past the age of consent. As usual, and even though they'd promised her to pay attention when she called, Belle had to try and roust them out of bed for almost thirty minutes before Bart finally pulled himself up, walking sleepily into the big room of the house and dragging his well-worn teddy bear with him. Beauregard had brought Mr. Giggles home from a trip to New Orleans before Bart was born, and it was the only toy that his youngest son refused to let go of. One eye was missing and half his mouth was gone, and his left leg clung precariously to the rest of his body, but Mr. Giggles was in bed with the boy every single night no matter how much teasing from his brother and cousin he endured.

"What happened, sugar?" Belle asked her son as he made his way to her chair at the kitchen table. He rubbed his eyes with his fist and looked up at his mother for a full minute before he answered her question.

"Don't know, Momma. Can I still go with you?"

She leaned down to pick him up and sit him on her lap. He continued to rub his eyes. She bent down and kissed the top of his head, pushing the hair off of his face. "Is that better, baby?"

The eye-rubbing stopped. "Uh-huh. Can I Momma? Did we sleep too long again?"

"Yes, you did, but that's normal, isn't it. Is your brother still in bed?"

"No, ma'am, he went out to feed the chickens. And bring us some eggs. Can we have eggs, Momma? Can we?"

"Of course we can, baby." She set him back down on the ground and he started to amble away. "Wait, Bartley, you forgot Mr. Giggles." She handed the bear to her son and gave him a love pat on his bottom. "Go get cleaned up and dressed, and when Bret comes back I'll make us some eggs."

Bart nodded and ran back to the bedroom. Belle shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. She'd barely finished the cup when Bret came through the front door with a basket of fresh eggs. "That yellow hen doesn't look so good, Momma," he told her. "She only laid one egg, and that's the third time in a week. Is it time for chicken dinner?"

Belle laughed and nodded. Bret was perceptive about things like that, even at the young age of five. "We'll talk to your daddy when he gets home and see what he thinks. Maybe on Sunday if he agrees."

Bret gave her a worried look. 'Momma, you know it's up to you an me to decide. If you can't play poker with it, Pappy don't care one way or the other."

"Doesn't care, Bret. Not 'don't care.' And yes, your daddy does care about something besides poker. He cares about us very much. Thank you for getting the eggs. Now go help your brother while I cook some of these."

"Yes, Momma," he called while already running towards the bedroom, where he found Bart back in bed asleep. He went over to the bed and shook his brother. "Bart, get up. Momma's makin' us eggs for breakfast. We gotta be ready to go."

"Uh-huh," came the reply from his brother, who didn't move. "Bret, why doesn't Momma want us to play cards like Pappy does?"

"Cause she wants us to be somethin' besides gamblers," the older boy replied. "Doctors or lawyers or sheriffs. Not gamblers."

"Yuck. I don't wanna be no sheriff. Wanna be just like Pappy when I grow up."

The older boy grinned. "We will be, Brother Bart. We will be. Now get out of bed."

1


	2. A Pair of Aces

Part 1 Chapter 2 – A Pair of Aces

By the time the boys were ready another hour had passed, and it was nowhere near as early as Belle had hoped. It took some convincing on Bret's part to get Bart to leave the bear at home, but the promise of an unexpected treat finally did the trick. Belle hitched up the horses with Bret's help and at long last they were off. The trip into Little Bend was slow since Bret insisted that driving the team was a man's job and he was the closest thing to a man that Momma had at the moment. They went to the general store to get the supplies Belle needed, and while she was inside two of Bret's new friends from school saw the wagon and came to see what he was doing in town.

"My Momma had to get some things at the store," he told the two boys, Gabe and Fred.

"And you had to take care of your little brother," Gabe pointed out, like it was a bad thing.

"Well, yeah," Bret answered. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he?

"Bret Maverick's baby-sittin' a baby," Fred cat-called from the ground.

"He's my brother," Bret reasoned.

"He's a baby," Gabe echoed Fred.

Bart took offense at the name-calling. "Am not a baby. I'm almost four."

Gabe turned to Fred. "Oooh, he's almost four."

Fred answered Gabe right back. "That means he's still three. He's a baby."

"Am not." Bart put his hands on his hips and stood up in the wagon, defying the other boys. One of the horses flinched and the wagon lurched, knocking Bart down in the wagon bed. He tried his best not to cry but it hurt, and big tears rolled down his cheeks.

"See, only babies cry," Gabe pointed out.

Bret didn't like the direction this had taken. "He's not a baby, he's my brother." He leaned over and helped Bart stand back up, then guided him up front to sit on the seat. "Quit picking on my brother."

Belle emerged from the store, finished with her shopping. Gabe and Fred ran, and Bart started to cry in earnest. Bret hugged his little brother, hoping to stem the flood of tears before Momma stepped in. It didn't work, and Bart threw himself at his mother, in full-fledged meltdown.

"What is all this?" Belle asked, concern in her voice.

"Momma! Momma! They said . . . . . . sniffle. . . . . . . they said . . . . . I was . . . . . .sniffle . . . . . a baby!"

"Who said you were a baby?" Belle gathered Bart into her arms and held him close while she dried his tears. She swept the hair from his eyes and handed him a piece of chocolate licorice, his very favorite.

"Bret's friends."

Belle turned to her oldest. "Is that true, Bret? Are they your friends?"

Bret looked down at his brother's skinned elbow. "No. They're not my friends. I know them from school."

"Who are they, honey?"

"Gabe Alford and Fred Taylor. Momma, they didn't mean anything by it. I wouldn't let 'em hurt Bart."

Belle shook her head. "That's not the point, Bret. We'll discuss it when we get home."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, and hung his head. Momma didn't sound mad at him, just disappointed. That was even worse than mad. He didn't ask to drive the team home.

Nothing was said on the ride back to the ranch. Bart's feelings were long forgotten; he was too busy eating the licorice. Once they pulled up in front of the little house Bret got out of the wagon and carried Belle's supplies inside for her while she carried his brother. Then he walked the horses back to the corral. Momma came outside to help unhitch the team and remove the harnesses. She and Bret walked back to the house, still not speaking. When they got inside she let Bart go to the boys' bedroom but put her hand on Bret's shoulder and stopped him from following. "Breton, come sit down with me."

Momma never called him Breton. Was he in trouble after all? She went over to her rocker and sat; he took his customary seat in Pappy's chair. "Momma, I . . . . . . . "

She put her hand on his arm. "You're not in trouble, son. I just want to explain something to you."

Bret waited for her to continue. He was relieved but curious. Why had Momma used his full name? That didn't happen unless he'd done something wrong or what she had to say was really important.

"You're my firstborn, son, and what I have to tell you is something you probably already know. But you need to hear it anyway." She sat back in her chair and rocked for a minute, as if trying to decide how to 'present her case.'

"You have a little brother who's been very sick his whole life. He's smaller and weaker than he should be for his age. Maybe he'll grow out of that, maybe he won't. But he's always going to be your younger brother, and it's up to you to look out for him. And I don't mean just now. I mean your whole life. Whether he needs somebody to protect him or not, that's your job. He worships you, Bret. Your daddy and I may not always be around to make sure that Bart is safe. That's up to you. No matter what happens, no matter how old you get. Understand?"

Bret knew that. From the moment that Momma had first placed his brother in his arms, when he was no more than a baby himself, he'd loved his little brother with everything in him. He'd give his life for his brother. So why was Momma telling him this? What was that she'd said about her and Pappy not always being around? Why did she say that? What was she trying to tell him?

"Bret, do you understand me?" Belle asked again.

She broke through his reverie. "Yes, ma'am, I understand."

"Do you, Bret? Do you really?"

He considered her question carefully. Yes, he believed he did. Bart was his responsibility to protect and defend. His and his alone. His answer was quick and fierce. "Yes, ma'am. I do."

Belle looked at her oldest boy and was satisfied. "Yes, I believe you do. Alright, run along and play now. Take your brother outside with you." She watched her little boy go; she had just placed an enormous burden on him, and he had accepted it willingly, without hesitation. She breathed a sigh of relief.

XXXXXXXX

Momma made Texas Pecan Pie for dessert that night, Beauregard and Bart's favorite, and cooked a roast and mashed potatoes for dinner. It was ready and waiting when Pappy swept through the front door like a tornado and roared back into everyone's life. The first thing he did was kiss his beloved wife passionately; the second thing was to gather both boys into his arms and hug them to his chest. "Bret and Bart, I brought you a present from San Antonio. Were you good while I was gone?"

"Yes, sir," answered Bret, and Bart nodded his head solemnly. Beauregard looked at Belle and she nodded 'yes' and smiled. From the inside of his coat he pulled a brand new deck of cards and handed them to Bret. "These are for both of you, and I expect you to take care of them and share them. And this is for you too," and he handed each of them a gold coin.

"Beauregard! That's too much," Belle protested to her husband.

Beau smiled and collected another kiss from her. "Honey, it's nothin' in comparison," and he patted the part of his coat that his wallet resided in. "San Antonio was splendid to me."

Bret put his coin in his pocket but Bart bit into his to see if it was real. "Bartley!" his mother laughed and turned to Beau. "You see what you've taught them?"

"I've taught them to be cautious and careful and respectful of money. Would you want them to be any other way?"

Bret was still staring at the deck of cards. "Pappy. A brand new deck? But you said we couldn't have one until we were old enough."

"I know, son. But I think you're ready. Take good care of it." He turned towards Belle and sniffed the air. "What is that delicious smell? My darlin' wife, is that Texas Pecan Pie I smell? And a roast? What have I done to deserve this?"

He gathered her into his arms and swung her around while she laughed. "Put me down, Beauregard! I have hungry mouths to feed."

"Mine among them, my sweet southern bell. Gentlemen, help your mother with dinner. I'm starved." He leaned over and whispered in his wife's ear, "I have somethin' for you, but you get your present later."

Belle reached into the pantry and handed the plates to Bret. "Set these out please, Bret. Bartley, go sit in your chair. Mr. Maverick, get comfortable and I'll bring dinner over."

All three Maverick men scrambled for the table. Bret passed out the plates and Belle brought the roast over for Beau to carve. Everyone was seated and Pappy said grace, which Momma insisted on. Supper was lively, with tales of poker games won and lost being told to the brothers, who listened eagerly and with undivided attention. Belle let Beau tell the stories at the dinner table but excused the boys as soon as supper was done. She reached across the expanse and laid a hand on his arm. "Beauregard, I should like a word with you."

"Yes, Isabelle," he answered, echoing her serious tone. He followed her into the kitchen and waited until Bret and Bart had gone outside before asking her, "What have I done now?"

"Beauregard, I wish you wouldn't keep filling the boys' heads with the romanticized versions of your poker games that you tell them. You're just putting a lot of nonsense in there. I don't want them to grow up and be gamblers."

"I know you don't, Belle, but you see how they are. They want to hear everything that happened. I am a gambler, and that's all I'll ever be. I'm not gonna hide how I make a livin' from 'em. I won't do that."

"Can't you make it a little less glamorous?"

"No, ma'am. I tell 'em the truth. They know it ain't glamorous. And they know you don't always win. They're gonna be what they're gonna be, Belle, and there's not a thing you can do about it. I will not tell them not to play poker. If you want 'em to believe that, you're gonna hafta convince 'em yourself." With that Beau kissed her on the cheek and went outside for a cigar. Belle stood there for several minutes, trying to figure out a way to persuade her sons to not follow their father into a gambler's life.

Beauregard sauntered out onto the little porch and sat in the chair placed outside for just such an occasion. Bret was grooming Pappy's horse and Bart was attempting to help. Beau lit his cigar and took a draw on it, watching the boys work together and recognizing how much they meant to him. Maybe Belle was right. Maybe they should be something besides gamblers. But what? He'd had a good life for the most part, how could he send them out into the world to labor at a job that would do nothing more than break their backs or their spirits for little or no reward? No, he was right. If Belle wanted them to do something else for a living she was going to have to convince them; he refused to have a hand in it.

He got up from his chair and went to take over Bret's task. Boys that age should be playing, not working, he reasoned. "Let me have the brush, Bret."

His oldest son looked at him with dismay. "Did I do it wrong, Pappy?"

He reached down and ruffled the boy's hair with one hand and took the brush with the other. "No, son, you did everything right. Take your brother and go play. Go be a child. Time enough to be a man later."

The older boy grinned and nodded. "Yes, sir." He grabbed his brother's hand and they walked off towards the barn. Beauregard stood and watched them until they disappeared; quietly thanking Lady Luck for the two aces she'd dealt him in the game of life.


	3. Lessons

My Brother's Keeper Part 1 Chapter 3 – Lessons

Things slowly settled into a routine. Bret went back to school, Bart finally celebrated his fourth birthday, and Pappy resumed playing poker almost nightly in Little Bend. His brother Bentley hosted Sunday-after-church dinner for the family and Belle got to relax for one meal and eat Lily Mae Connor's food, Lily Mae being Ben's housekeeper. Their cousin Beau walked home from school every day with Bret and Bart was always there to greet his two missing playmates. One day Gabe Alford came home with the cousins and everything was fine until Bart wanted to join the three older boys and Gabe protested.

"You can't play, baby," the visitor taunted.

"Yes he can," Bret insisted. "He's my brother."

"I don't play with babies."

Bret looked at Bart, who appeared ready to burst into tears at being excluded, and stood his ground. "He plays or you don't."

Gabe shrugged his shoulders and turned to Beau. "Come on, let's go to your house. There's no babies there."

Beau, being a Maverick, had learned the lesson that Beauregard and Bentley taught their sons – family comes first. "Nope. No Bart, no Bret, no Beau."

Bart ran to his big brother and held on to him tightly. Bret reached down and put his arm around his sibling. "If you can't play with all of us, then you can't play with any of us."

"Fine," Gabe replied. "I'm goin' home."

"Fine," Bret answered, and Beau echoed "Fine."

Gabe stalked off, angry about being rejected for a four-year-old. Bart looked up at his big brother and beamed. "Frogs?" he asked.

"Frogs," Bret answered, and the three boys made their way down to the creek bank to find some of their favorite objects. When Belle called them in for supper she was surprised to find Beau still there and Gabe among the missing. "What happened to Gabe?" she asked, more curious than concerned about the disappearance.

"He went home," was Bret's succinct answer.

"I thought he was staying for supper," she countered with.

Nobody answered and little Beau finally couldn't stand the silence anymore. "He wouldn't play with Bart," Beau told his aunt, "so Bret sent him home."

"Is that what happened, Bret?"

Reluctantly he answered "Yes, ma'am," expecting his mother to be angry with him. Instead she smiled and ushered them into the house.

"That was the right thing to do, Bret. I'm proud of you. Come on, all three inside to get cleaned up for supper. Beau, you can go home with your Uncle Beauregard when he rides over to pick up your father."

The boys ran into the house and almost trampled Pappy. "What's all that about?"

"Your oldest son standing up for your youngest son," Belle answered. "I'll explain it to you later."

XXXXXXXX

The next day Beauregard was up and waiting for Bret when he came home from school. "Come out to the barn with me," Pappy instructed his oldest son. He and Bret headed outside and went to see the foal that had been born earlier in the year. The colt was turning into a fine looking animal and they watched him for a while before Pappy turned to his son. "He's yours, Bret, but you have to take care of him from now on. Groom him, train him, and when he's old enough to ride we'll get you a saddle and you'll have your very own horse."

"Really, Pappy? He's all mine?" Bret was so excited he could hardly stand it.

"He's all yours, son. But remember now, it's up to you to see to it that he has what he needs."

"Yes, sir. When can I start trainin' him?"

"I'd say pretty soon," Pappy answered. "I can help you with that some. But Bret, that doesn't mean he's old enough to be taken away from his momma yet, and it doesn't mean that you have to take care of him all by yourself. Raisin' a colt into a fine saddle horse is like raisin' your brother. It can't all be done by one person without help from others."

"Pappy, are we talkin' about the colt or Bart?" Bret was confused about Pappy's point.

Beauregard ruffled Bret's hair and bent down to his eye level. "Both, boy, we're talkin' about both. You're momma told me about the talk she had with you and I think you misunderstood. You don't have to be everything to your brother; he's got a momma and daddy just like that colt does. You just have to love him and help guide him and protect him when he can't protect himself. Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes, Pappy. I'll do the best I can with them both," Bret promised, seeming to understand what Pappy was trying to tell him.

"And if you're not sure about somethin', come ask me, okay? Whether it's the colt or Bart?"

"Yes, sir. I will."

Beauregard pulled his boy to him and held him tight for a minute, then let go. He wasn't given to outright displays of affection so Bret wasn't quite sure what to do, but he leaned over and kissed his father on the cheek. "Thank you, Pappy. I won't disappoint you."

"I know you won't, boy. Now go on, git in the house before your mother thinks you've been kidnapped or somethin'." Bret took off running, eager to tell his brother about the great present Pappy had given him. Beauregard heard the door slam just as his brother Ben rode up.

"How'd it go?" Ben asked him. "Did it work?"

"I think so," Beauregard answered. "Thanks for the idea."

"Happy to help. You goin' in to town tonight?"

"You know I am. You come for supper?"

"Yeah," Ben nodded. "Lily Mae's got somethin' goin' on at church and she made supper for Beau before she left. Belle sent word for me to come on over here and eat with you all."

"Come on in, Ben. I'm sure Belle fixed somethin' special for tonight." Ben's wife Abigail had died when Beau was just a baby, and Ben was lost whenever Lily Mae wasn't around. Belle did her best to fill in the blank spaces in his life so that he didn't feel quite so alone.

"You know what a jewel you've got there, don't you?"

Beauregard smiled as he nodded. "A priceless gem," he answered. Belle and the boys were the only things that held any importance in his world besides the game of poker. And, God help him, sometimes poker even took a back seat to his family.

1


	4. Lessons Learned

My Brother's Keeper

Part 1 Chapter 4 – Lessons Learned

Nothing was the same anymore. Momma was gone and Pappy seemed disinterested in almost everything. When there was a problem to be solved regarding anything, but especially his younger brother, nine times out of ten it was handled by Bret. He didn't mind; at least Pappy was there in the house when he wasn't in town or close by playing poker.

Things had been running fairly smoothly since Pappy hired Solita to come in after school and cook supper for everyone. Bret and Bart learned to do their share around the house and life settled into a new routine. There were still nights that Bart cried himself to sleep, but the nightmares were gone for the most part and Bret had gotten used to being his brother's refuge and comfort for all the things that Belle used to deal with. And Pappy was there to lend a distracted hand when the younger boy came down with one of his many illnesses.

Life went on for the now motherless and wifeless family. Bret's colt had grown into a magnificent stallion and provided much of the recreation for both boys. It took time and patience to teach the young horse everything he needed to learn to be a reliable mount, lessons that would serve Bret well later in life, especially when it came to Bart. School was sometimes a trial to both boys. They were bright but easily distracted by what they were more interested in, the Maverick clan's salvation and personal demon – poker. Pappy seemed to come alive when he was teaching them the skills they needed to make a living at their chosen profession, and the lessons in cheating, both how to do it and how to spot someone else doing it, were always foremost in their minds. Writing and arithmetic took a backseat to the poker education, and the only thing that challenged Bart was reading, because he loved it so. His capacity for learning new words was endless, since when he wasn't playing poker or doing his chores he had his nose stuck in a book. That habit was what led to the next big event in Bret's role as his brother's protector.

Pappy had given Belle's Bible to his youngest son since he was the only one of the boys that expressed any interest in it. Bart carried it with him everywhere, always taking the very best care of the book. One day Bart was sitting quietly reading it at recess when Tommy Miller and Jonas Ford, both older than either Maverick, decided they wanted the book. Tommy grabbed it out of Bart's hands and ran with it while Jonas made sure to trip Bart when he tried to chase after the thief. They teased and taunted Bart, throwing the book back and forth, until the younger boy was on the verge of tears. Bret was in another part of the grounds surrounding the school when he heard a familiar shriek and came running, certain that Bart was being murdered. He calmed his brother enough to quickly hear the story of the theft and immediately went after Tommy and the Bible.

"What do you want, Maverick? You want this? You can't have it. You're not big enough to take it. I think we'll take it home and throw it in the fire." Bart heard the words and charged after Tommy before Bret could make a move and the older boy threw the book to Jonas just in time to haul off and hit Bart and knock him down. Tommy might as well have thrown kerosene on the fire because that was all Bret needed. In an instant he was on top of Tommy, threw three punches and connected with all of them, and the older boy went down with a split lip and, in days to come, a black eye. Jonas watched the whole thing in horror, dropped the Bible and ran for his life. Bart finally pulled himself to his feet and retrieved his most cherished possession just as the teacher came out and separated the two involved in the altercation.

Miss Adams grabbed Bret and Tommy by the collars and drug them both inside. Bart pressed the Bible to his chest and followed. The teacher sat each in a chair about three feet apart and glared at them alternately. Tommy was a regular when it came to her wrath; Bret was not. "Who started it?" she asked.

Both boys were silent. Bart wandered into the schoolroom and sat in the back, concerned about what was coming next. Finally the teacher asked again, "Who started it?"

Bret looked up and raised his hand, "I did, Miss Adams."

That was a surprise. "And why did you start it, Mr. Maverick?" Again, silence. "Do I need to send a note home with each of you?"

Bart came rushing forward still clutching his Bible. "It's Tommy's fault. He and Jonas stole my book and threatened to burn it."

Miss Adams looked at the younger boy and asked, "What kind of a book is it? Bring it here, please."

Bart reluctantly took the Bible to Miss Adams. She opened it up and saw the inscription that Pappy had written to his bride: _'To my beautiful, bewitching Belle. On our_ _wedding day. Forever yours, Beauregard.'_ She realized immediately what the book meant to the boy and handed it back to him tenderly, then turned to face Tommy. "You took this from Bart? Why, Tommy? Was there a reason?"

Ashamed and embarrassed at having been caught, Tommy answered sheepishly, "No."

"The rest of the story, please, Bret," Miss Adams requested.

"No story, Miss Adams," was all Bret would say.

The teacher turned back to Bart. "It's up to you, Bart. I need to know what happened."

Bart looked from Miss Adams to Bret, then back to the teacher. "Tommy pushed me down and took my book. He wouldn't give it back and Bret hit him."

"Well, that seems straightforward enough. Do either of you have anything to say?"

Two boys had never been so quiet. Miss Adams took out pen and paper and wrote a note, then called Tommy up to her desk. "Take this home to your mother, Tommy. And make sure that she answers me, so I'll know she read it."

She took another piece of paper and wrote something on it, then called Bret to her desk. "Give this to your father, Bret. No answer is required. Go on and take your brother home now. Lessons are done for the day."

Bret got out of his seat and took the note from Miss Adams. "Yes, ma'am," he answered reluctantly. He took Bart by the hand and left the school house as Miss Adams rang the bell and sent everyone home for the afternoon.

Beau, Bret, and Bart walked home without much conversation, with Bart nonchalant and Bret apprehensive. Beau went right at the turnoff for his house, unwilling to head to his cousins and incur the wrath of his Uncle. Bart went running into the house and put his mother's Bible under his pillow. Bret went straight to his father's room with the note from his teacher.

"Pappy, Miss Adams sent this home for you. I'm really sorry."

His father looked up from his reading. "What's this all about, Bret?"

"It's . . . . . . . . I'm sorry, Pappy."

Beauregard took the note and opened it. He read it over, looked up at his son, and read it over again. Without saying a word he handed the note to Bret. Bret took it, knowing it must really be bad if his father was making him read it. On the piece of paper Miss Adams had written, _'Bret did a very brave thing today. He defended his brother against an older, bigger boy. I'm very proud of him. You should be, too. Sincerely, Miss Mathilda Adams.'_

"Is all this true, Bret?" Pappy's voice was stern, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

Bret was hesitant to answer. "I . . . . . . . I . . . . . .sort of."

"Yes or no, son. There is no 'sort of'. Who was the boy?"

"Tommy Miller."

"Isn't that the boy . . . . . .?" Earlier in the year someone had stolen a gun from the general store in town. The accused thief was Tommy Miller.

"Yes, sir."

"Did ya hit 'em?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did ya hurt 'em?"

Bret shuffled his feet and stared at the ground for a minute. "Split his lip."

Beauregard spoke at last. "Go on outside."

"Pappy, I – "

"Go on outside, boy."

"Yes, sir." Bret left the bedroom, wondering how long Pappy would make him wait before he was punished.

Beauregard sat and watched Bret walk out of the room. He heard Bart go running after him. And then he did something he never would have done in front of either son. He smiled.

1


	5. Claytonville

My Brother's Keeper

Part 2 Chapter 1 – Claytonville

Bart Maverick was fifteen years old and wild as they come. He was tall and thin, with dancing brown eyes and a smile that would stop your heart. He'd stayed out of serious trouble so far but he was on the absolute verge of landing right in the middle of it.

Earnie Night and Fred Taylor had come up with a foolproof plan to rob the saloon in Claytonville. They'd been talking to him about it for days, and they finally had him on the threshold of agreeing to join them. They knew it was wrong, as did Bart, but they were so bored they no longer cared. Right now the town of Claytonville, Texas was without a sheriff and there was too much talk of civil unrest brewing in the nation for them to be concerned with getting caught doing something that illegal.

As usual, they were down by the river fishing and skipping stones when the next round of discussions about the robbery began. Bart had been playing poker in town on a regular basis since he was twelve years old and this was the first summer he wasn't involved in a cattle drive of some sort, so he had spending money and time on his hands. Not that there was much to spend the money on. Fred and Earnie had nothing between them, and they seemed to think the easiest way to get money was to take it from somebody else, which is sort of what Bart had been doing by playing poker. He was better than most of the locals that played at the 'LB Bar' in town but that was small change compared to the amount they could make in one 'minor' robbery.

Bret had been deliberately excluded from the potential heist. Bart knew better than to ask his brother in on anything illegal; the older Maverick was as straight as they come if there was the potential for jail involved, which there most certainly was. Jail never crossed Bart's mind for more than a few seconds; so far in his life he'd been able to skirt most consequences by having what Pappy called 'puppy-dog' eyes. And he knew exactly how to use them.

So when the topic of the robbery came up once again, Bart was willing to listen. Good thing brother Bret wasn't around, because he would have told Pappy, and puppy-dog eyes or not Pappy and Bart would have visited the barn for a lot more than just a talk. Ernie was the main instigator. Fred was easily persuaded to participate in most things but Bart was the hard sell in the plan. Three accomplices were required or the scheme wouldn't work, so it was vital that Bart agree.

"Come on, Bart, aren't you tired of havin' to play poker to have money on ya?" This approach might have worked with anyone else, but asking a Maverick if they were tired of playing poker was like howling at the moon.

"Nope," came back the quick answer. If Bart was going to acquiesce to participation in the plan there was going to have to be a better reason than that.

"What about the dance that's comin' up and Jolene Evans?"

"I don't think . . . . . " Bart started, and then stopped. Jolene Evans was a pretty good reason. Her daddy had money and the Mavericks, as a general rule, didn't have enough for Bart to qualify as a suitable escort to the dance. Jolene was worth the potential risk. She was the prettiest girl in town, with deep blue eyes and cascading blonde curls. And a hankering to find out if Bart was as good a kisser as the gossip alleged. "What if I said yes?"

It was the first inkling that a willing third member of the group might be interested, and Earnie pounced on it. "It'd be real easy to pull off. We could ride over and back without any trouble. All you'd have to do was pretend you was goin' into Little Bend to play poker and meet us down here instead. We could be over to Claytonville and back in a couple hours. Nobody'd suspect us."

"How much you expect we could git?"

"Thousands of dollars," Fred volunteered. "You really interested?"

Bart was interested but cautious. "Maybe. How we gonna keep my snoopy brother from findin' out it was us? He'll wanna know where I go instead of Little Bend."

"Tell him yer goin' to see Mary Slade. He knows she's sweet on ya."

That was true. Mary was a nice looking girl, but nobody was in Jolene's class. And Bart had already complained that Mary wouldn't leave him alone. Bret would probably buy it lock, stock, and barrel. "So when would we do it?"

"On Friday night. That's when old Hal closes up the saloon instead of Jake. He can't see as well and he probably wouldn't know who we were."

Bart could see all kinds of holes in the plan, not the least of which was the "probably wouldn't know who we were" part of it. But it certainly was tempting. The thought of Jolene and kissing her in the moonlight was almost more than he could bear.

"Alright, Earnie, I'm in. But I wanna hear the whole plan, from beginnin' to end. And we gotta make sure my brother don't stick his nose in it."

Earnie readily agreed and nodded. Fred was slightly more hesitant. "How we gonna do that? Your brother finds out everything we even think about doin'."

That puzzled Bart, too. But there had to be a way around it. "I don't know. But I'll think a somethin'."

XXXXXXXX

Bret and Pappy were in a heated discussion at that very minute about the youngest Maverick and his potential for getting into some kind of trouble that the well-known Bart Maverick look couldn't get him out of. Beauregard was worried that his son was headed down the wrong road by hanging around with Earnie and Fred. He'd already escaped from two or three instances of 'almost' disasters by his ability to convince you that black was white and the sun rose in the west. "He's gonna get himself in trouble that he can't get himself out of," Pappy explained. "I've just got a feelin' somethin's not right. Fred Taylor's alright, but Earnie Night's tryin' to lead 'em both by the nose into a life of crime."

Bret shook his head. Whether Earnie was a bad influence or not, Bart had enough sense to stay away from anything that might land him in hot water he couldn't talk his way out of. Life hadn't been especially kind to his brother so far, but he had a good head on his shoulders and a better heart, and Bret knew Bart would never deliberately hurt another human being. Whether he'd take that kind of care of himself or not was the abiding question. "I just can't believe Bart'd let himself get involved in anything really wrong with Earnie. He wants to travel and play poker too bad to let anything get in his way, specially jail. But I think you're right, Pappy, I think they're cookin' up somthin' that's gonna get 'em all in trouble if it isn't stopped. So I'm gonna hafta find out what it is."

Pappy took another sip of his coffee. "And just how are you gonna do that, son? Ya know how tight mouthed yer brother can be when he wants to be."

"I don't know yet, Pappy, but I'll find a way."

XXXXXXXX

That night Pappy rode over to Ben's house before heading into Little Bend for poker so that Bret and Bart could ride into town together. Bart had been unusually quiet, as if trying to work something out in his mind, and Bret finally hit on the key to unlock his brother when he asked "Are you gonna ask Jolene Evans to the dance?"

"I'm thinkin' about it," Bart answered noncommittally.

"Will her pappy let her go with a Maverick?"

"That might not be an issue," his brother replied.

"Oh? Have you figured out a way around the whole money thing?" Jolene's father was well known as a snob. And the Mavericks sure didn't fit into his category of 'appropriate' people for his daughter to associate with.

Bart rode on without answering and Bret knew he'd stumbled on whatever the three young men had planned. "What's up, Bart?"

"Nothin'. What's up with you?"

Bart heard that tone in his brother's voice and knew he'd gotten himself into exactly what he didn't want to. "Come on, spit it out. What's Earnie been' plottin' this time?" Somehow the plans that were headed in the wrong direction always seemed to be Earnie's.

"We're just workin' on a way to get Jolene's daddy to say yes to my escortin' her, that's all."

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"I'm workin' on it."

Bart wouldn't discuss the subject any further but Bret knew there was some kind of a plan in place. Now it was his job to find out what and extricate Bart from it before he was in so deep he couldn't get out.


	6. I Want Out

Part 2 Chapter 2 – I Want Out

The next day the three boys rode out to the woods south of town just to be someplace that Bret wouldn't come looking for them. Earnie explained the whole plan to Bart and Fred listened attentively.

"Old Hal helps with the saloon on Friday nights cause they're so busy, and when Jake leaves at two in the mornin', Hal closes 'er up at three. He puts the money in a locked box under the bar but sometimes he forgets to lock the back door to the saloon. If he leaves it unlocked we can go right in an grab the money box."

"What if he doesn't leave the back door unlocked?" Bart asked.

"Hal lives right behind the place and he keeps his saloon keys on a hook by the door. My daddy did some work for the owner and he was told where the keys are. Hal's about blind and deaf and I can get in and get the keys real easy like."

"Won't they blame Hal for the robbery?"

"Maybe. But if he don't have the money, how can they throw him in jail?"

Earnie had a point. It sounded almost foolproof to Bart, and that's what worried him. There must be a flaw in the plan somewhere.

"What if somebody sees us?"

"They don't know us over in Claytonville. Why would they suspect us? Besides, if we go in the back way to town we can stay behind the buildings and we won't be spotted."

"Think they'd throw us in jail if we got caught?" Fred asked in a worried tone.

"Damn straight they would," Bart answered. "We can't get caught. I'm gettin' outta this town in a couple years. I'm not gettin' caught."

"Neither am I," Earnie answered. "We can do this. You in or not? Once an for all."

"I'm in," Bart committed. "Maybe there'll be enough money to get outta Little Bend NOW instead a waitin'."

Earnie nodded eagerly. "Probably will. You still in, Fred?"

"Yeah . . . . . I guess. I gotta get back home. My daddy's expectin' me to help with the new fencin'. Tomorrow at our usual spot?"

"Agreed. We can talk about it again and make sure we got all the details worked out. You gotta go too, Bart?"

"Yeah, Pappy's got somethin' for me to do this afternoon, too. If I'm on time he won't be askin' what I'm doin'."

"Don't care what nobody says. You an your cousin Beau got the best fathers in the valley. Wish mine did more than just fix broken stuff. Man, to be a gambler's son!"

"Yeah, remember I'm the second son. Nobody measures up to my brother in Pappy's eyes."

"Still – a gambler for a pappy. Way better than an old handyman."

Bart got up from the ground and swung up on his horse. "Yeah, well, I gotta go afore the gambler comes lookin' for me. See ya."

The other boys watched him ride away. "I'm surprised he's goin' along with it. That brother of his – "

Fred interrupted Earnie. "Aw, Bret's okay. At least Bart's got somebody lookin' out for him."

"Lookin' out for him or lookin' out to stop him?"

Fred shrugged. "I don't know. Guess we'll just have to wait an see."

XXXXXXXX

Bart rode into Little Bend that night but went to play poker at the new place that had just opened up on First Street, 'Jimmie's Poker Room'. He was willing to try any place that wasn't the 'LB Bar' and people he'd been playing against since he was ten years old.

Bret and Beauregard went into town, too, but they went to the 'LB' like they usually did. 'Hey, it's the Mavericks," Ray called as they entered, and each found his own poker game and sat in.

Bret played several hands before he started thinking about anything, and then the only thing that filled his mind was his brother and whatever Bart could be up to. What had happened to the sweet little boy who cried himself to sleep at nights? Where was the brother who'd run to him when he had nightmares? The Bart Maverick that existed recently was sullen, arrogant, secretive, and defiant. He listened to Pappy as little as possible and spent less time with Bret or Beau than he ever had in his whole life. Even Lily Mae, their Uncle Ben's housekeeper, had stopped calling him what she always had – 'Mr. B'. At the moment she simply referred to him as 'that boy.'

Slowly Bret's attention was drawn back into the poker game and the men he was playing against, one of whom he recognized as Michael Slade, a neighbor of theirs. Mike's daughter Mary had a gigantic crush on his brother, but Bart only had eyes for Jolene Evans. Mike was telling Harry Stone, the local undertaker, that he was traveling to San Antonio on Friday morning and was taking Mary with him for a visit. That information didn't seem important at the time, but Bret would remember it later. The night was uneventful; he won, as he usually did, but couldn't quit worrying about his brother.

For long years they'd shared the same dream – save enough money to leave Little Bend and travel everywhere, relying on playing poker to make their fortune. Together or apart, they'd wanted to head out into the world and see the rest of the country. Bart had kept playing poker and winning, but all he could talk about was how much he hated Little Bend and wanted to get away. No more dreaming of where they'd go or what they'd do; almost like Bret had ceased to exist and Bart was leaving by himself. Bret finally had to excuse himself from the poker game and go outside to get some fresh air. It wasn't long before Pappy followed him out. "Somethin' botherin' you, boy? I saw you get outta that game like your tail was lit on fire."

"It's Bart, Pappy. I just don't know what's gotten into him. It's like my brother disappeared and this stranger took his place. All he can think about is girls, leavin' Little Bend, and how to get into mischief. I don't know him anymore."

Beauregard lit a cigar and took a draw on it before he answered his oldest son. "You went through the same thing, Bret. Except for the mischief part. I think that's more who he's friends with than anything else. Long as he doesn't get himself into trouble too deep he'll come outtta it, just like you did. Unless there's somethin' you're not tellin' me."

Bret shook his head. Everything he'd found out so far he'd disclosed to his father. It was what he hadn't discovered that was bothering him most. "No, Pappy, I still don't have anything to put my finger on. I just know somethin's up that I haven't got figured out yet. And I got a feelin' it's comin' quick, whatever it is."

"If it's botherin' you that much why don't you go on over to Jimmie's and see just what he's up to? Maybe you can find out somethin' there that'll set yer mind at ease."

"I think I will," Bret replied, wanting to be around his brother even if the opposite wasn't true right now. "See ya at home."

Beauregard nodded and took another draw on the cigar. Sometimes he was amazed at how much one took care of the other. Then he thought back to all of the plotting and planning that he and Belle had done, trying to instill that very quality of kinship in both boys. Even though it didn't look that way right now, Bart was there for his big brother whenever he was needed. "Belle, honey, you did a fine job with those two. Sorry if I muddied the waters any." Beau sighed and returned to his poker game.

XXXXXXXX

Bart was winning at poker but his mind wasn't really on the game. He kept mulling Earnie's plot to rob the saloon in Claytonville over in his mind and wondering how he'd ever let himself get suckered into agreeing to participate. It was wrong, dang it, no matter how bad he wanted to leave Little Bend, and he knew it, but he'd said yes anyway. What would it look like if he backed out now? Like he was afraid, no doubt, which was partially true. He was afraid. He was afraid of the things that could go wrong; afraid of the mistakes that anyone involved in the whole scheme could make; afraid that something would happen at the last minute to destroy the whole plan; afraid that something wouldn't. Afraid of what Pappy and Bret would say if they ever found out that he'd been a willing participant. And what about Jolene and her father? Would Shaver Evans really let an outlaw court his daughter? Even one with a lot of money? And what about Jolene herself? She'd batted her eyes at Bart and flirted shamelessly with him, but that didn't mean anything at the end of the day. What if she found out he was involved in something illegal and wanted nothing more to do with him? What would he do then?

He was doing his best to come up with a reason to back out of the whole thing, ANY reason, when his brother walked into the saloon, checking up on him as usual. Suddenly all of his doubts and fears about Earnie's plans for their Friday night were discarded, swept under the rug like so much trash. If he couldn't be trusted to play poker without his family around he was bound and determined to do something they wouldn't approve of.

There was an empty chair in his poker game and Bret wandered over to it. "Mind if I sit in?" he asked, and no one objected. Bart would rather he go somewhere else to play, anywhere else, but he wasn't about to say anything that might make his brother suspicious of what was on his mind or in his plans. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

Bart continued to win poker games, whether by design, accident, or skill, and he noticed that Bret's attention didn't seem to be in the game. They played for another hour before Bart decided he'd had enough for the night and excused himself. He was only forty dollars ahead of where he'd started, but any night that he came out ahead was acceptable. He gathered his winnings and went outside, dying to light up a cigar but knowing what Pappy thought of his smoking at fifteen. Within a few minutes Bret had followed him and stood quietly on the sidewalk, leaning up against the building for support. They stood side by side for a few minutes, each sizing the other up. Bret had grown several inches and was solid and muscular like their father. Bart still lagged behind in the height department, but there was more meat on his bones than before.

Both were good-looking young men, and if you counted in their cousin Beau, the Mavericks had the best-looking family in or out of town. And the girls in Little Bend all knew it. That was one of the things that puzzled Bret. If Bart could have attention from any of the younger girls, why did he seem to be obsessed with Jolene Evans? Because she was out of reach? Bret finally realized that Bart was talking to him.

"Did Pappy send you over or did you decide to come over and ruin my night all by yourself?"

Ah, nothing had changed. "I had no intention of ruinin' your night. I just came over to see the new place. How's the poker been?"

"Slow, truth be told," Bart answered. "I imagine it'll take a while to get busy." Bart dropped the attitude for about five minutes and they were just like-minded brothers for a moment. "How's Pappy doin' tonight? He wasn't feelin' real well this mornin'. Thought he might be comin' down with somethin'."

"Seems to be alright. How're you doin'? Haven't seen you much lately."

"Bret, I . . . . . ." Bart trailed off, almost on the verge of telling his brother he missed them spending time together. "I'm fine," he finally finished. "I'm goin' home. I'll see ya later." He walked down to his horse, mounted and rode off towards home.

Bret sighed. So close and yet so far away. He'd had enough for one night, too. Pappy would figure out he'd gone home when he didn't return to the 'LB Bar.'

He followed suit and mounted his horse, but he didn't want to go straight home so he rode the long way around and found himself down by the river. The frogs were croaking and the cicada's chirping and things were peaceful and familiar, and there was more than enough moonlight to see the ebb and flow of the water. Bret had come here many times in the summer when he couldn't sleep and couldn't lay in bed any longer. He dismounted and dropped his horse's reins, knowing that the stallion wouldn't go far by himself. He bent down and picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. It only went halfway before it sank, and Bret almost laughed out loud. Instead he muttered, "Another thing my little brother's better at than me," and was startled when he saw and heard another stone coming flying out of the night and bounce once, twice, three times further than his before it too disappeared.

"I didn't wanna go home yet, either," broke the stillness, and he whirled around to see his brother leaning against a tree about ten feet away. In the reflected moonlight he could make out Bart's horse, standing in a small gathering of Juniper trees a little further south. Bart walked towards his brother while he skipped another stone out over the river. "Sorry I rode off in town."

Bret leaned back against a tree and propped his boot heel up on it. "That's alright. Sometimes I wanna ride away from me, too." He took the chance to say what his brother had been thinking before he left Little Bend proper. "I miss the time we used to spend together. What happened?"

"You grew up before I did," Bart answered. Bret had already turned seventeen, and he'd started to think of things beyond their little corner of Texas. Bart wouldn't be sixteen for a couple more months, and his mind was still very much on first kisses and spending time with his friends and trying to avoid his father's wrath. "I miss bein' with you, too."

"Let's do somethin', then," Bret offered. "Let's go down to Austin. We can go Friday night and stay over, play poker, have breakfast and ride back. Get out of Little Bend for a night."

"Sure, we can . . . . . . no, wait. I can't go Friday night."

"Why not?" Bret asked.

"Cause I'm goin' to see Mary Slade at her house," Bart lied. He'd already promised Earnie and Fred he'd go to Claytonville with them. "Maybe Saturday?"

"Saturday's fine," his brother answered, and in that instant Bret knew – whatever Bart had gotten himself into with Earnie and Fred was scheduled for Friday, the night that Mary Slade would be in San Antonio with her father Mike.


	7. A Change of Heart

Part 2 Chapter 3 – A Change of Heart

The plan was to meet at the river at nine o'clock.

Bart assumed that Pappy and Bret would be long gone by that time and he could ride out to meet Earnie and Fred without them knowing where he was going. Part of it worked – Pappy left for Little Bend about eight but Bret seemed to be in no hurry to go. Bart thought his brother was on his way out about half-past eight, but he was barely gone long enough to saddle a horse before returning. Bart was getting nervous when it got to be eight forty-five and there was still no sign of Bret leaving. Finally he could delay no longer and asked him point-blank, "I thought you were goin' into town. Aren't you?"

Bret played nonchalant. "You in a hurry to go see Mary Slade? I thought you didn't like her."

"Didn't say I didn't like her. Just said she wouldn't leave me alone."

Bret nodded. "I see. Well, don't ya think ya better go if you're supposed to be there at nine?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah." Bart was as nervous as a cat. "I'll see ya later."

Bret watched him leave, then slipped off his coat and strapped on his gun belt. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to run into but assumed he'd better be prepared for anything. He waited until he heard Bart's horse leave the barn and head down the road, then he ran outside and mounted, following Bart's tracks in the moonlight. They headed toward the Slade ranch at first and for a moment Bret thought maybe he'd misheard Mike Slade and Bart really was just going to see a girl. At the turn of the river the tracks suddenly veered off towards Claytonville and Bret racked his brain for a meaning. There was no reason to be so secretive about going to the other town to play poker, so it became apparent that something else was planned.

Bret stayed in the grove of Junipers south of the river, close enough to see his brother standing on the riverbank waiting for someone. Within ten minutes Earnie Night rode up, and less than five minutes after that Fred Taylor appeared. The two latecomers dismounted and Bret could hear the conversation clearly.

"You sure weren't in any hurry to get here," Bart told Earnie.

"Sorry, I couldn't get away any sooner. You ready to go?"

Bart didn't answer, and Fred reluctantly drawled "Yeah."

Earnie sounded nervous. "Maverick, you didn't say nothin'."

"I been thinkin', Earnie . . . . . . . "

Bret held his breath. Could it be that Bart would change his mind on his own?

"Maybe this ain't such a good idea after all."

Earnie's voice was angry and pinched. "You promised us. You said you'd go."

"I got a right to change my mind." Bart sounded like he didn't know what he wanted to do. "What about you, Fred?"

"I . . . . . . . I don't know. I'm afraid a gettin' caught, Earnie. I'm not sure it's worth it."

"You two – you're nothin' but big cowards. I can't do this alone and you both said yes to goin'. Now you're backin' out on me?"

"I didn't say that, Earnie," Bart told the other boys. "I'm just not sure it's such a good idea. If we get caught – it could mean jail for a long time. I don't wanna go to jail."

"Nobody wants to go to jail, Bart. How are we gonna get caught? I told ya the plan – outlined it all for ya. It's practically foolproof." Now Earnie was indignant.

Bret could see Bart and Fred looking at each other, and he hoped and prayed that Bart's fear of jail was greater than his desire to do whatever it was they had planned. It must be awful, considering the talk about jail.

"There ain't no such thing as foolproof, Earnie. Specially when yer talkin' about robbin' a saloon."

ROBBING A SALOON? Bret almost fell off his horse. That's what all this was about? They were going to rob a saloon? Where? How? He would have asked when, but the time was obviously tonight. What in the world was Bart thinking? And why would he ever get involved in something like this? And then Bret remembered the conversation of just a few days ago that he and Bart had. _"Are you gonna ask Jolene Evans to the dance?"_

" _I'm thinkin' about it," Bart answered noncommittally._

" _Will her pappy let her go with a Maverick?"_

" _That might not be an issue," his brother replied._

" _Oh? Have you figured out a way around the whole money thing?"_

" _We're just workin' on a way to get Jolene's daddy to say yes to my escortin' her, that's all."_

" _And how are you gonna do that?"_

" _I'm workin' on it."_

Bret was nervous, ashamed, angry, and dismayed that Bart would even consider such a plan. And worse than all that, scared to death that his brother would go through with the plan to rob someplace just to take Jolene Evans to a dance. He paid closer attention to what the boys were saying, determined that no matter what, he would stop his brother from throwing his whole life away.

"I just think it's too big a risk," Bart stated. "What happens if somethin' goes wrong and somebody gets shot? What're ya gonna do then?"

"How're they gonna get shot? Ain't no sheriff in Claytonville."

So that was their target. Must be the 'Providence Club' in Claytonville. Bret almost took off for Claytonville, but something made him hesitate. Bart still hadn't committed to the plan, whatever it was. Would he, or would common sense prevail?

Bart turned to Fred. "Sheriff's not the only one that carries a gun, Fred. I don't think it's such a good idea after all. You stayin' with me or you goin' with Earnie?"

Bret held his breath once again, until he thought he'd pass out waiting for a decision. Finally Fred spoke. "If you're stayin' here, Bart, then I'm stayin' with you. Ain't never led me wrong yet."

Earnie mounted his horse and looked down at his two 'friends'. "Cowards. Just remember this when I'm livin' high on the hog." He wheeled his horse towards Claytonville and took off. Fred turned to Bart.

"We told him we'd go with him, Bart."

Bart nodded his head. "I know we did."

"What happened?"

"It was a bad idea, Fred, from beginnin' to end. We wasn't raised that way, and you know it. Your Pappy'd skin you alive for doin' somethin' like this, and so would mine. And if we got caught it'd kill 'em. No amount a money's worth that. Not even thousands a dollars. We made the right choice."

Fred and Bart both mounted their horses and sat by the river for another minute or so. Then they turned and headed back to their homes, not totally at peace for having let their friend down, but satisfied that they'd done the right thing. _'Thanks, Lord,'_ was the only thing Bret could think of as he waited until Bart was out of sight before pointing his stallion in the direction of home. His brother had made an about-face that night and headed back towards his family. This particular crisis was over.


	8. Poker Face

My Brother's Keeper

Part 2 Chapter 4 – Poker Face

Bart and Bret rode side by side, returning from Austin the following night. Bart had been unusually quiet on the trip but appeared to enjoy himself. It was nice to go somewhere besides Little Bend, and even better that whatever had come between the two of them seemed to have disappeared.

They were almost home when a rider approached them from the north. It took a few minutes for him to get close enough to be recognized – it was Fred Taylor. By the time he reached the brothers he was as out of breath as his horse. "Gotta talk to you," he told Bart while glancing furtively at Bret.

"So talk," Bart answered.

Fred's eyes darted back and forth between the brothers. "In front of Bret?"

"What's it about?"

The word almost exploded out of Fred's mouth. "Earnie."

Bart shot a look at his brother that Bret completely understood. "I think I'll ride on ahead if ya don't mind. I'll see ya at home later." Bret urged his horse on and in just a few moments he was out of sight. Bart turned to Fred expectantly.

"Earnie's dead."

Bart sat in stunned silence. Finally he asked, "How? What happened?"

"He was shot."

The next question was asked in a hushed tone of voice. "In Claytonville?"

"Yeah."

"At the saloon?"

Fred shook his head and looked helplessly at his remaining friend. "I don't know."

Bart made a quick decision. "Let's go to town and find out."

They turned their horses toward Little Bend and headed for the town and information. Neither boy spoke as they rode, each one thinking it could have been them. When they reached Little Bend they went straight to the 'LB Bar,' hoping that Ray would have more information and they wouldn't have to head for the jail to talk to Sheriff Donnelly.

"Little early for you to be here, ain't it?" Ray asked as Bart walked in. Fred had only been in the saloon one other time and he was intimidated by the whole atmosphere. He stayed behind the door as if he was protected as long as he wasn't seen.

"I heard somethin' this mornin'. Came to see if you knew anything about it," Bart answered.

"The shootin' over in Claytonville?"

"Yeah," Bart affirmed. "Can I get a coffee, Ray?"

"You still drinkin' it black?" Ray queried as he pulled out a cup and picked up the coffee pot.

"Yes, sir," Bart answered out of habit. "What did ya hear?"

"Nothin' good," came the reply. "You know Earnie Night?"

"Yeah, Ray, he was a friend a mine." Bart took a swallow of coffee and looked back at Fred, who was still hiding behind the batwing door. "What happened? All I heard was he's dead."

"Yeah, kid, he's dead all right. Seems like he tried to break into the Providence Club and got caught by Jake."

"I thought – " Bart started, and then stopped before he implicated himself any further.

"That Old Hal closed up on Friday nights? Hal's been sick all week. He wasn't even there last night. Musta been what the kid thought, too. He tried ta get away and Jake thought he had a gun. Hell, maybe he did have a gun. Anyway, Donnelly rode over there to help out with the mess and then came back this mornin'. Stopped by here afore he went back to his office. Pretty shook up, seein' a kid get gunned down like that. You seen Earnie lately? Bart? You there?"

Bart shook his head as if trying to shake off an evil spell. His answer was hesitant, at best. "Yeah. Night before last. Down by the river."

"Musta gone straight to Claytonville from there. You know what he was up to?"

"Huh? Uh, no, I had no idea. Uh, Ray? Does Earnie's father know?"

"About the shootin'? Yeah, I imagine he does. Donnelly woulda stopped there afore he come back to town. You gonna go out there and see the old man?" Ray asked, strictly out of curiosity.

Bart glanced over at Fred, who was shaking his head violently. "Maybe later. Not now. Thanks for the information. I'll get ya for the coffee tonight."

"Don't worry. It's on the house. I'll see ya later?"

"Yeah," Bart answered. "Tonight. Thanks, Ray."

Bart set his empty cup on the bar and turned around to leave when Ray said, "Hey, Bart, be careful what you say to Donnelly. I'd hate to see him go after ya for nothin'."

"For nothin'?"

"Knowin' too much and not sayin' anything?"

"Oh." It took Bart a minute before he realized what Ray was telling him. "Oh, sure. I'll be careful."

Bart left the saloon and Fred still stood behind the doors. "Fred." No answer or movement. "Fred." Still nothing. "FRED."

"What?"

"Come on. We're goin' up to Donnelly's."

"C-c-c-c-can't go." Fred looked absolutely terrified.

"Why not?" That made no sense to Bart. Fred could agree to try and rob a saloon but he couldn't go talk to the sheriff?

"Gotta go home." Fred ran to his horse, scrambled on board, and took off.

Bart removed his hat and scratched his head, then grabbed his reins and walked up the street to the sheriff's office. He knocked on the jail door but there was no answer, so he went in. There was no one out front, but there was what appeared to be a body lying on the table next to the sheriff's desk. The body was covered by a blanket. Was that Earnie?

He moved over to the body and pulled the corner of the blanket down. The expression on the face was panic and desperation, and the eyes were wide open. Bart knew that face. He quickly pulled the blanket back down and fought to control the bile that rose in his throat.

"Bart, what're you doin' here?" came a familiar accent from the back end of the jail. Sheriff Donnelly strode out into the front end of the jail. "Oh. You heard bout Earnie." Bart nodded, afraid to trust his voice. "You take a look?" Bart nodded again. "Ain't a pretty sight, is it?"

This time, the young man shook his head and finally spoke. "No, sir, it's not. What happened, Sheriff?"

Donnelly sighed and sounded very old when he spoke. "Don't you know?"

"No, sir." Did the sheriff know what the plan had been? How could he? Maybe Earnie didn't die right away and had a chance to talk before . . . . . . ?

"When'd ya see him last?"

"Night before. We was down at the river."

"Doin' what?" The sheriff narrowed his eyes and watched young Maverick. Bart never flinched or hesitated. He was playing poker, even if the sheriff didn't know it.

"Doin' nothin'. Skippin' stones, talkin' about leavin' town when we was old enough."

"That's all?"

"That's all. Fred Taylor was there, too. We went home about nine-thirty, ten o'clock. Wasn't nothin' else ta do."

"Who left first?"

Bart stopped to think a minute, like he couldn't remember at first. "Me and Fred. Earnie was just sittin' there when we went home."

"And you never saw him after that?"

"Nope. What'd he do?"

Donnelly hesitated a minute, then answered the boy. "Tried to rob the Providence Club over in Claytonville."

"He did what?" The tone was incredulous.

The sheriff nodded. "Broke in the back door. Tried to grab the cash box an run. Jake Cooper hollered at 'em to stop, drop the box, said it looked like Earnie pulled a gun. Jake shot him. Died right there. You tellin' me you didn't know nothin' bout this?"

Bart shook his head and pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. "No, sir. Not a dad-blamed thing. Earnie never said a word to me. Or Fred, far as I know. I gotta git home, sheriff. I'll be back in town tonight with Pappy an Bret to play poker if you need anything else." Bart scooted out the front door, trying to keep a tight rein on his insides. He mounted his horse and headed straight for the Taylor Ranch. Fred was just leaving the barn. He looked up as soon as he saw Bart.

"What – "

"Don't say nothin', Fred. I told Donnelly we was down at the river talkin' about leavin' town when we was old enough. Said you an me left about nine-thirty, ten o'clock, an Earnie stayed at the river. That's all. He didn't say nothin' to us about robbin' no saloon. Got it?"

Fred nodded and Bart turned his horse around and took off for home. He seemed to be losing his battle with his insides, but he was determined not to succumb. As soon as he arrived he unsaddled his horse and hurried inside the house. Pappy and Bret were both asleep, and he skinned off his clothes and boots and dropped into bed, where he lay awake, seeing Earnie's face in front of him. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep, dreaming that it was him lying dead on the sheriff's table with the blanket covering his face.

1


	9. Choices and Consequences

My Brother's Keeper

Part 2 Chapter 5 – Choices and Consequences

The low murmur of voices filled his head as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep and return to the land of the fully awake. After a few minutes he could understand the words that Bret and Pappy were speaking and he listened carefully.

"And you're sure it was Earnie?" That was Pappy, no doubt.

"Yeah, it was him. Donnelly said Bart came by there earlier this mornin' askin' questions but didn't seem to know anything about what the kid tried to do. Fifteen years old and dead. Do you know how lucky we are that Earnie tried to pull the job by himself and not bring Fred or Bart into it?" Bret's voice.

Pappy laughed a short, stunned noise. "What if that's what was bein' planned? What we was both worried about?"

"Pappy, Bart's got more sense than that. He'd never throw in with Earnie Night to rob a saloon. That's just plain stupid, and Bart's not stupid. No, he said they was tryin' to figure a way to get Shaver Evans to let Jolene go to the dance with Bart, and I believe him. Why would he lie? Now that Earnie's out a the picture I don't think we've got so much to worry about, do you?"

There was silence for a few minutes, and Bart could just imagine Pappy shaking his head. "I hope not. Bein' a gambler's hard enough on a man, he don't need to be a wanted man, too." His voice faltered; Bart was surprised to hear the raw emotion in it. "I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to Bart. Every time I look at him I see yer momma."

There were some sounds that Bart couldn't identify, then he could hear Bret walking towards their bedroom and he quickly closed his eyes. "Hey, little brother, you in there somewhere?" Bret's voice asked.

"Hmmm? What? I, uh, huh?"

"That's a fine greetin' for the middle a the day."

Bart blinked and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Around three. You gonna get up or lay there all day like we did when we was kids?"

"Yeah, I'm comin'. You hear about Earnie?"

Bret nodded and sat down on his bed. "Donnelly came by earlier. Told us the whole thing. Damn shame, alive one minute an dead the next. Sure glad you weren't involved in that."

Bart sat up and prepared himself for the reaction. "I was, Bret."

His brother looked at him but said nothing. Long minutes passed while Bret digested the information. "How?'

Bart expected more than that. He was surprised that his brother was taking it so calmly. "Earnie and Fred planned it. I let 'em convince me to go along with it."

Bret's voice was even and steady. "For Jolene?"

"Yeah. Dumb, huh?'

"What changed?"

"I dunno. Scared a gettin' caught. Couldn't think of anything except what Pappy'd do if I did. Can't ride outta town if you're in jail. And I . . . . . . . I couldn't disappoint you like that."

"Fred involved?"

"Yeah. At first. But when I decided to stay here, he did too. That's why Earnie got killed." All Bart could feel was sadness, regret, and guilt. It was an emotion that he'd come to know well in his life.

"Earnie got killed because you and Fred backed out?"

The younger Maverick nodded. "Earnie said it was a three-man job. When we chickened out he tried to do it all himself. If we'd a gone with him – "

"You might all be dead," Bret interrupted. "Or in jail. You an Fred backin' out had nothin' to do with Earnie gettin' himself killed. He never shoulda tried it to begin with. Earnie got himself killed by bein' stupid. Nothin' like that is worth dyin' over. Not even for Jolene Evans."

Bart looked up, startled that Bret had put two and two together. What else had he figured out?

"You knew?"

"I figured somethin' was up. I just didn't know what," Bret admitted.

"And you didn't interfere?" That was the biggest surprise of all to the younger brother.

Bret wanted to be honest, without destroying his brother's faith in himself and his own ability to make the right choice. "I admit, I was tempted. But you're old enough to make your own decisions without me buttin' in. And that's just what you did. You decided to back out. I'm proud of you."

"Are you gonna tell Pappy?" There was a note of apprehension in the question.

There was a quick knock at the door and the aforementioned Beauregard stood there. "Tell me what?"

His oldest son answered him. "We're thinkin' about goin' to Austin again to play poker. Maybe next week. You wanna go with us?"

"Thanks for the invite, but I'll leave that overnight ride to you two. Fred's here to see you, Bart. I told him you'd be out in a minute. Bret, come with me. I've got somethin' to show you."

Just as quickly as he'd appeared, Pappy disappeared. "Talk later?" Bret inquired.

"Yep. And Bret – thanks."

A quick nod of the head and his brother was gone. Bart got dressed hastily and padded back out into the front of the house, boots in hand. He continued on to the porch, where Fred stood and waited for him. "Hey, Fred."

"Donnelly came to the house this mornin', askin' about Earnie. I told him just what you told me. He seemed to be done with the questions. Did we do the right thing, Bart? Would Earnie still be alive if we'd gone with 'em?"

Fred was nervous and fidgety, and Bart motioned him to sit in the chair on the porch while he put his boots on. "I got a better question for ya, Fred – would we be dead too?"

That thought hadn't crossed his friend's mind. He sat and pondered it while Bart finished dressing. He shook his head and answered. "I never thought a that. Maybe. So you think we did right?"

"Yep. I think we did the right thing. I shoulda seen it from the very beginnin'. We got a second chance. Earnie didn't, and I'm sorry for that. Let's do what we wanted to do and leave this place in a couple years. Till then I'm gonna keep playin' poker. And I think I'll ask Mary Slade to the dance. How about you?"


	10. Tell Me Again

My Brother's Keeper

Part 3 Chapter 1 – Tell Me Again

Bullets flew at them from all directions; the gunfire was so loud they could barely hear each other talk.

"Tell me again how we got into this mess," Bart pleaded.

"Darned if I know," his brother answered. "I'm more concerned with how we're gonna get out. You got any ideas?"

A short laugh followed as Bart ducked further down under the window frame. "Let me think about that."

"Don't think too long," Bret answered. "Somebody out there's liable to get lucky and hit one of us."

Forty-eight hours ago they'd ridden into the modest town of Black Rock, New Mexico to play some poker. It'd been about three months since they'd seen each other and they were looking forward to spending a little quality 'Maverick' time together before one went east and the other went west. They had no idea how difficult that would turn out to be.

They met up in Gracefield and rode on into Black Rock with the idea of a few sociable poker games, some good meals, and fine cigars. Bret had an 'acquaintance' in Black Rock named Cherie Almadin who had a younger sister, Lil, and with any luck there might be a little friendly recreation in store for them. They had no clue what kind of trouble they were riding into.

Little Bend, Texas had been left behind after five years spent fighting a war they didn't believe in and Indians that wanted to be left alone. They'd been all over the country since that time, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but always mindful of where the other one was. Bret was headed for St. Louis and a big poker game; Bart for San Francisco at the invitation of a friend. A few days of peace, quiet, and brotherly camaraderie was just what was needed.

They checked into the 'Black Rock Arms' hotel and went to dinner after baths, shaves and a change of clothes. An hour later they were down the street with Cherie and Lil, who both worked at the Silver Spur Saloon, enjoying the girls company and a good smoke. Bart was keeping the ladies entertained with one of his stories about him and Bret as children when his brother stepped out back for a few minutes. No sooner was Bret out the rear door than three men came in and sauntered up to the bar. One was blonde and trail dusty and he grabbed Cherie's arm as he walked by the table and pulled her over to the bar with him.

"Hey, Luke, let go," she hissed at him, but he refused to turn her loose. Bart got up and went over to the cowhand and took his hand off Cherie's arm

"The lady told you to let go," Bart stated quietly.

The blonde gunman laughed and grabbed Cherie again. "Ain't no lady within thirty miles a here, tin horn. Get lost. This here's my property."

"I am not your property, you dirty, drunk – "

"Now Cherie, baby, that's no way to act," Luke laughed. "Tell the tin horn to go away."

Bart pushed Luke off of Cherie. "I think you're the one that needs to go away, friend." He stepped in front of Cherie so that he was between her and Luke. The second cowboy walked up behind Cherie and silently pulled her out of the way so that Bart was caught between the two men.

"Go away, tin horn," the second cowboy ordered, and when Bart didn't move, he drew his gun and hit the gambler across the back of the head. Cherie screamed and Bart went down in a heap just as Bret came in the back door.

The third cowboy pulled his gun and aimed it at the older brother. "Hold it right there, mister. This is a private quarrel."

Cherie bent down to minister to the fallen man and Luke planted a well-worn boot right in Bart's chest. The second cowboy jerked Cherie away while Luke dug through Bart's coat and found his wallet and rifled through the cash, then whistled. "Whoa, ya got one here that's loaded," and proceeded to remove the money and toss the wallet back on the unconscious man.

Lil jumped up from the table and tried to knock the gun from the third cowboy's hands, but all she got for her effort was a pistol butt in the face that slammed her halfway across the room into Bret's arms. "Don't try somethin' stupid like that again, Lil," Luke told her. "Sammy, get his wallet, too," and unholstered his gun to point it at Bret. Bart, meanwhile, stirred on the floor and moaned and Luke kicked him again, this time with enough force that Bart let out an 'oof' sound and then lay still.

Sammy relieved Bret of his wallet and smiled as he removed the money. "This one's pretty well fixed, too." Just then the bartender went for the rifle he kept under the bar and without batting an eye Luke turned and shot him. He grabbed Cherie by the arm and dragged her in close.

"You gotta behave better than this, baby," he growled in her ear, "or people get hurt." He aimed the pistol at Bart and shot as Cherie jerked away from him. The shot missed and went into the floor, and the girl ran for her life. He let her get half way out the batwing doors before he fired, hitting her in the shoulder. She fell and Bret jumped for the gun in Sammy's hand, wrestling it away from him and connecting with a right hook just as Luke and the second man ran out. He scrambled to the door, but the two men had jumped on their horses and were already halfway down the street.

Cherie was screaming and crying and Bret turned and told Lil "Go get the doctor," as he checked the bullet wound. It wasn't life threatening, but he stayed with her until her sister returned with the doctor, then hurried over to Bart, who'd remained still and silent. Bret turned his brother over gently but Bart was still unconscious and his breathing seemed labored. How many times had his ribs been broken? Had that happened this time? For what, because some drunken cowboy thought that a woman was his property? Cherie was hurt, Bart was unconscious, and the bartender was dead. And both the Mavericks were out a lot of money. "Bart, can you hear me? Come on, son, this wasn't supposed to happen. I was only gone a couple minutes. Wake up, would ya?"

A low moan was followed by an "oooooooooooooh" and then a mumbled, "Whose horse is on my chest?"

Those were the best sounds Bret could have heard. "Sorry, no horse. Are the ribs broken again?"

"Don't think so." Bart's eyes opened partially and he looked up at his brother. "What happened?"

"Before or after you went down?" Bret glanced over at Cherie, who was on her feet and on her way out the door with her sister, probably headed for the doctor's office. The doctor, who resembled a man they'd met in New Orleans, came over to see how Bart was.

"Shot anywhere?" he asked, and Bret shook his head. "Can you get him up? My office is three doors down. Bring him down there. Name's Snyder."

"Thanks, Doc," Bret called after Doctor Snyder. Then he looked back down at his brother. "Now, I can't tell you everything that happened, but our not-so-friendly cowboy Luke used your chest for a place to plant his boot. How's it feel?"

"Horse is still there. Help me up?"

Bret got under his brother's arms and helped pull him to his feet. Bart settled his hand on his chest and let out an "Ouch!" Bret draped Bart's left arm over his own shoulders and helped his brother stumble out the doors and down to the doctor's office. Maybe there they could get some answers from Cherie and Lil.

1


	11. A Clean Shirt

Part 3 Chapter 2 – A Clean Shirt

"Naw, I agree. They're not broken, just bruised. You're lucky, Luke usually does more damage with that foot. That's one a his favorite tricks. Here, hold still and let me wrap 'em. It'll help some." Doc Snyder was already working on wrapping Bart's ribs as he was talking. Maverick winced every time Doc wound the bandage around his chest; he didn't feel lucky.

"This kinda thing happens often, does it?" Bret asked, watching the doctor work on his brother. The black-and-blue imprints of a boot were already beginning to show, but Doc was right. As often as Bart's ribs had been broken, he was lucky they weren't this time.

"With Luke Drier, more often than I care to remember. He's an outlaw of the worst sort. Got everybody so scared to death nobody'll testify against 'em."

"What about the marshal?" Bart asked as Doc continued wrapping.

Doctor Snyder shook his head. "Just as scared as everybody else. Got good reason to be. Luke's got a gang hangs out in Titus Pass. Last time Marshal Grady went up there they shot him and left him for dead. He's got a wife and kids. He won't go back."

Bret and Bart exchanged looks. Between them, Luke Drier and his lieutenant had taken over sixty-five hundred dollars. Marshal or no marshal they weren't about to let that much money go. One man was in custody, but he wasn't the one with the money.

Bart got down off the exam table gingerly, rubbing the back of his head where the pistol had made an impression. Bret helped him put his shirt on and he buttoned it while asking, "How's Cherie?"

"She'll be alright. She's been tryin' to get him to leave her alone, but he won't. That's the first time he's hurt her, though."

"It'll be the last time, too," Bart stated flatly.

"Easy, boy. I don't like it any better than you do, but let's slow down some. Where'd you say they hide, Doc?" Bret inquired.

"Up in Titus Pass. About eight or nine miles outta town on the southern trail. There's a whole slew a caves up there and they've got a regular little compound. Careful if you go in there – there's one way in and one way out."

"The ladies still here?"

"Yeah – the other room. I'll tell 'em you're comin' in."

"I need a clean shirt," Bart stated, looking down at the footprints left on the one he had on.

"Later. I wanna talk to Cherie before she goes home."

Bret walked into Doc's other exam room and Bart followed. Cherie was sitting on the table, right shoulder bandaged, looking frightened and wan. Lil stood in front of her, talking quietly to her sister. "Oh Bart, I'm so sorry," Cherie started, but Bart waved her apology off.

"Not your fault, Cherie. Nobody should have to put up with that kinda treatment."

"Tell us what you know about this Luke Drier, Cherie." It was a request from Bret rather than a demand.

The injured girl stared at the gambler. "I don't know anything."

Lil shook her head and spoke up. "I do. He's a mean, no-good, useless THING. I'll tell you anything you wanna know."

Cherie shook her head vehemently. "No, Lil, you can't. He'll kill us."

"I don't care anymore, Cherie. He SHOT you. I won't live like this." The younger sister looked angrily at Bret. "He almost killed your brother. Are you gonna do anything about it or just talk?"

"We're goin' to get our money back," Bart interrupted. "He won't be botherin' you again."

Bret sighed. Bart was off and running, determined to right a wrong he had no hand in. "We're goin' up after him. That's all I'm gonna promise."

Lil put her hand on Bret's arm. "That's more than anybody else'll do. Thanks."

Bart grinned at last. "Now can I get a clean shirt?"

XXXXXXXX

"Are you happy now?" Bret asked as Bart finished buttoning the black shirt he'd changed into.

"Almost," was the reply, with Bart wincing just a bit as he attempted to strap on his gun belt. Once that was accomplished, he loaded his derringer into the inside pocket of his buckskin jacket. "Now I'm happy."

Bret shook his head. "Anything else, princess?"

"Well, I could use – "

"Shut up, Bart." Bret put his hand on Bart's shoulder. "Really, do you need anything else?'

"Nope. If I've irritated you my job is done."

Both brothers chuckled, the most mirth they could manage given the circumstances. Then Bret got serious. "Be careful, huh?"

"Same to you. Let's go see if we can convince Marshal Grady that three works better than two."

Hiram Grady seemed to be reasonable and listened to everything they told him. He even volunteered that there was a twenty-five hundred dollar reward for Drier's arrest. And then refused to go with them to Titus Pass.

They came out of the marshal's office shaking their heads. "So, no help on that front, huh?"

"Nope," Bret replied. "Guess this is up to us."

Bart tried taking a deep breath and decided that wasn't a good idea. "Let's go get the horses. How many men can there be up there, anyway?"

Ninety minutes later they found out – and it wasn't good news. Drier must have had a dozen or more men up in the caves with him, and they all appeared to be heavily armed. Doc Snyder was right; it was a city with but one way in or out. The brothers had circled around to the side but could see most of the camp.

"Whatta we do now?" Bart asked, almost hoping Bret would suggest they leave. Money was money, after all, but the odds were decidedly not in their favor.

"Let's just sit for a while. Maybe there's a way to draw 'em out. They've got too much protection as it is."

"Amen, brother. I'm happy to wait."

Both men studied the situation and came to the same conclusion – getting at the 'gang' while they were protected by the caves was not going to work. "We gotta get 'em outta there."

"How are we gonna do that?"

"I've got an idea. Let's go back to Black Rock."


	12. Good Ideas Gone Bad

Part 3 Chapter 3 – Good Ideas Gone Bad

Bret's idea, setting off enough dynamite to make the Titus Pass gang think there were dozens of lawmen after them, worked. Sort of. At least enough to get most everybody running for their lives. Until the Mavericks were spotted by an unseen lookout and the tables were turned, with the brothers running for their lives. Which is how they ended up stuck in the abandoned shack they found and took desperate refuge in.

 _Bullets flew at them from all directions; the gunfire was so loud they could barely hear each other talk._

" _Tell me again how we got into this mess," Bart pleaded._

" _Darned if I know," his brother answered. "I'm more concerned with how we're gonna get out. You got any ideas?"_

 _A short laugh followed as Bart ducked further down under the window frame. "Let me think about that."_

" _Don't think too long," Bret answered. "Somebody out there's liable to get lucky and hit one of us."_

They returned fire whenever possible. The next time Bart shot there was a yelp from the outlaw and he rose and fell in one motion. "Got one," Bart remarked.

"How about a few more?" his brother begged.

"Your mouth to God's ears," came the reply. As promised, Bart hit another one.

Minutes passed and no more shots were fired. Then they heard a voice, unfortunately familiar, from behind a grove of pine trees. "Hey, tin horns, might as well come out and git it over with. You ain't comin' outta this alive."

Bret and Bart exchanged looks but said nothing in reply. A few more minutes passed and Drier yelled again, "You dead already or just too chicken to talk?"

They remained still and one of the outlaws finally crept out to see if they were alive or not. As soon as he was in the open Bret fired and disposed of another man. The brothers sat and waited for the next move. Finally Drier asked, "Whatta ya want from us?"

"Our money."

Gunfire resumed from the outlaws. "Guess he didn't like that answer," Bart drawled. "Hey, I brought some jerky with me. Want some?"

"Sure," Bret answered, and Bart threw a piece over to his brother. "How long do ya think they'll keep this up?"

"Well, I figure we'll either kill 'em all or they'll get bored." Another round of gunfire followed and towards the end of the onslaught Bart yelled, "Yeouch!"

"Are you hit?"

"Nope," came the quick reply. "Got a splinter."

The back-and-forth exchange continued for an hour or two. Another of the outlaws ventured too far out into the clear and caught a bullet from someone in the shack. Just as daylight started to fade a rider approached from the road to town and found Drier. A few minutes later the rest of the gang hurriedly located their horses and mounted, headed back to their compound.

Whooping and hollering followed, and what appeared to be a posse came roaring down the same road the lone rider had arrived on. Bart turned to Bret and called across the room, "Looks like the marshal changed his mind."

The noise for the next few minutes was deafening. There were several minor explosions and a considerable volley of bullets before it began to settle down. In less than thirty minutes whatever the battle had turned into was over. Still Bret and Bart sat and waited. As far as they knew Luke Drier was still out there somewhere, and even on his own he was nothing to mess with. Bart yelled out, "Drier! You still there?" and got no answer.

"Maybe he rode off with the rest of 'em and we didn't see him?"

"Possible. Let's give it a few minutes."

Ever cautious, they sat another few minutes and heard nothing. At last Bart's patience was worn out and he told his brother, "I'm goin' out to see if he's there."

"Careful, Brother Bart."

"Yeah."

Bart snuck out of the shack. There was no gunfire, no voice, no sound other than his own footsteps and breathing. When he reached the spot in the pines that Drier's voice had come from there was no sign of the man himself, but his horse was still there. That could only mean one thing – Drier was still lurking out there, and he turned and sprinted back to the shack just as he heard a single gunshot. Bart moved quickly around the side of the shack and saw Drier at Bret's window aiming and cocking his gun. The gambler didn't hesitate, he shot and Drier's weapon fell helplessly at his feet.

"Ha!" the outlaw laughed. "Too late!" Bart ran as Drier pulled another gun from his waistband and tried to take aim. Maverick fired again, and this time Drier fell.

"Bret!" There was no answer. "Bret!" Bart reached the front door and burst through it to find his brother lying on the floor. "Bret!"

It was Bart's turn to look for the wound and he soon found it, a deep red gash across the side of Bret's scalp. A small moan issued forth from the man on the ground as his brother exhaled shakily. "Bret, talk to me."

"Dead?" was the only word uttered.

"You or Drier? He is, you're not."

"Money?"

Bart set his brother's head down gently. "Stay there. I'll be right back." He hurried to the body laying outside the window. Bart soon located the outlaw's funds and counted out the money that he and Bret had been robbed of; there was only an additional three hundred dollars and Bart assumed ownership of it as 'interest.'

Right back inside he went, taking his handkerchief to wipe the blood from Bret's head and make sure the wound wasn't any worse than originally thought. "You still with me?" he asked his brother.

"Sure," the answer came back, but Bret hadn't opened his eyes.

"Money's back where it belongs. Open your eyes, Pappy, now's no time for a nap."

"What'd you call me?" The eyelids opened, finally, and Bart waited for the black eyes to focus on him.

"I called you Pappy."

"Why?"

"Because you practically are. Sorry about the head wound."

Bret reached up to feel the handkerchief now wrapped around his head. "At least you found out where Drier was."

"Yeah, I did. Let's see if we can get you up." Bart got in front of his brother and pulled the taller man to his feet. Bret swayed slightly just as Marshal Grady rode up with eight or ten men.

"Drier around here somewhere?" Grady asked.

Bart pointed to the body at the foot of the window. "He won't be goin' anywhere again."

The marshal nodded his head. "Good riddance to bad rubbish. Looks like you two are due that reward. We got the whole gang, cept for what I see layin' dead down here. You get yer money back?"

Bart nodded. "Why'd you change your mind?"

"I'll tell ya when you come to collect the reward. Looks like you better get your brother back to Doc Snyder."

"That's where we're headed now. We'll be up to your office soon as we're done."

Grady nodded; while he and the brothers were talking two of his deputies had slung Drier's body over his horse, then the marshal led the posse and what remained of the outlaws back towards town. The gamblers looked at each other and Bart helped Bret mount, then they slowly headed the same way.

"Steak dinner?" Bret asked.

"You buyin'?"

The oldest brother sighed. "Why not?"


End file.
